by Paige Toon
Giulio is still in a foul mood the next day. He arrives shortly after Stefano and me, but I don’t think he notices us in the stockroom.
‘What’s he saying?’ I hiss at Stefano.
I’m not sure what it is about him, but I feel as though I’ve known Stefano for years, rather than days.
‘He’s making Alessandro promise not to sleep with any more waitresses.’
I listen intently and realise that Alessandro is not taking it lying down as he did last night.
‘What’s Alessandro replying?’ I ask urgently.
‘He’s threatening to leave!’
‘What?’ I screech-whisper. ‘He’d rather quit than stop shagging around?’
Stefano snorts. ‘It’s not about that; he says he’ll go anyway if Giulio no longer wants him here.’
‘What—’
‘Shh,’ he snaps, trying to listen as the two men rant at each other.
‘What—’
‘Shh!’ He whacks me on my arm and then the shouting abruptly stops.
‘What did they say?’
‘Nothing, they’re still angry at each other,’ he replies.
‘Is Alessandro going to quit?’
The thought of this makes me feel quite ill. What would I do without him?
‘Of course he won’t quit,’ Stefano brushes me off. ‘He needs this job too much.’
‘He could get another one.’
I really would appreciate some reassurance here.
‘Another job that lets him disappear out of the door for six months of the year and return whenever he likes? I don’t think so.’
‘Is that how long he goes away for?’
‘If you have questions for me, you can ask them directly,’ Alessandro says from the doorway.
Stefano pulls a face and awkwardly ducks out of the stockroom.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ I mutter as he ambles over to the stereo and unplugs Stefano’s phone, replacing it with his own.
‘Are you leaving?’ I blurt.
He tuts under his breath and shakes his head, but it’s a gesture of mock disgust, not the denial I’m seeking.
‘If I could understand what you were saying to each other—’
Alessandro turns to face me and places his hands on my arms, cutting my sentence short.
‘I’m not leaving. Not anytime soon.’
My heart skitters as I stare into his emerald-green eyes. He abruptly lets me go and walks out of the stockroom, but I’m startled at my body’s reaction to his touch.
Uh-oh. Oh no.
No, no, no, no, no.
I do not want to have a crush on Alessandro.
I dreamt about kissing him last night, and he was my waking thought as a result. Obviously I dismissed the dream as nonsense, but he hasn’t been far from my mind this morning. The idea of seeing him today has been making me feel edgy, but I’ve dismissed those feelings too.
It’s hard to ignore these ones. It’s been years, but I haven’t forgotten what desire feels like.
I hastily tie my apron around my waist and walk out into the room. It’s only then that I register his song choice: ‘There Must Be an Angel (Playing with My Heart)’ by Eurythmics.
‘Did you put this on?’ Stefano asks me with delight.
I shake my head, but he’s already too busy strutting around the room to care who’s responsible.
Alessandro is cleaning out the coffee machine with his back to me, but he glances over his shoulder and our eyes lock.
‘You thought I was joking?’ he asks with a raised eyebrow.
*
Alessandro calls me Angel for the rest of the day. At first it makes me blush, then I’m too run off my feet to care and, by the end of the night, I’m answering to it.
‘Angie belonged to her mother,’ Alessandro told Stefano and Cristina, the first people who noticed. ‘She should have her own name.’
He said this in such a calm, reasonable manner that, to my surprise, they merely shrugged and returned to work.
Giulio reappeared at lunchtime, his earlier argument with Alessandro seemingly forgotten. He seemed a little surprised when he overheard the nickname, but then he good-naturedly agreed that I was an angel and left it at that.
Now it’s close to midnight and we’re about to tuck in to pizza.
Stefano and Cristina carry the plates over to a table instead of the bar, but before I can sit down, Alessandro passes me an unopened bottle of red wine and the bottle opener.
He promised to teach me after I admitted I was struggling.
While the others sit and chat, we stand off to the side, and I’m hyper aware of his close proximity as he watches my technique.
I have no problem getting the screw into the cork, but I can’t for the life of me lever the cork out with only one hand. I’m used to a corkscrew with two arms.
‘Like this.’ Alessandro’s hands cover mine.
I’ve been trying to reassure myself that crushes are fleeting, but my butterflies have not yet got that memo.
‘Thanks,’ I mutter, breaking away from him to pour the wine.
Cristina covers her glass. ‘Not for me.’
She was hungover today, and when Stefano suggested going for a few drinks, she told him that she wanted an early night. Alessandro has offered to drive us back to her apartment.
We take the same route home that we took last night, and as Alessandro and Cristina chat in the front, I puzzle over his claim that he preferred the view from this higher road. I took the short cut on my way to work and now I’m staring out of the window, wondering how they differ.
This road is prettier, I concede, with houses rather than apartment blocks.
‘Do you want to come in for a drink?’ I offer hopefully when we arrive.
There are no parking spaces next to our block, so Alessandro has stopped in the middle of the road.
‘Another time,’ he promises.
‘Okay.’ I try not to feel deflated as I follow Cristina to the courtyard gate. I hear the van pulling away when we’re safely inside.
‘I’ll have a drink with you,’ Cristina offers as she unlocks the front door.
‘I thought you were hungover?’
‘Herbal tea. Want one?’
Our paths at home haven’t crossed much with her late nights and my jet lag, so I say yes, not wanting to turn down the chance to bond. We could do with having a chat, just the two of us.
‘How long have you worked at Serafina’s?’ I ask as Cristina brings the tea over to the sofa area. It’s too cool to sit out on the terrace.
‘Almost twelve years,’ she replies, handing me a mug.
‘Did you know Alessandro and Giulio before you started working there?’
She shakes her head and sits down at the other end of the sofa. ‘Only since I joined. Giulio, at least. I’ve known Alessandro for about nine years.’
I’m confused. ‘How come only nine years? Where was he before that?’
She shrugs and pulls a face. ‘Who knows?’
‘He was away for three years straight? He never came home?’
‘He was away for a lot longer than three years,’ she replies. ‘I didn’t even know he existed until he turned up one day. Giulio almost had a heart attack.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘None of us do. Alessandro is an enigma, Angie. Be warned.’
I stare at her. Has she already managed to work out that I’m attracted to him?
‘There’s no need to warn me.’ I inwardly curse her all-seeing eye.
‘No, I know,’ she replies flippantly. ‘He’ll never lay a hand on you. And not only because Giulio has vowed that he’ll be out on his ear if another waitress quits because of him.’ She sighs and stares at me in a resigned manner that makes me feel deeply uncomfortable.
‘Alessandro loves Giulio,’ she tells me. ‘He’d never disrespect him by sleeping with his daughter.’
‘I would never have slept with him in any
case,’ I reply indignantly. ‘I’m no Teresa.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
Chapter 19
The next morning, I feel awkward at the thought of seeing Cristina. My conversation with her has done the trick of dampening my crush, at least.
It’s not like I thought it would ever go anywhere, even if Alessandro had been attracted to me in return. I’m here to forge a relationship with my father, not complicate matters wildly by falling for a family member, especially one who recklessly sleeps around.
I’m at the dining room table, making my way through a bowl of granola, when Cristina comes out of her bedroom. She’s up earlier than usual.
‘I hope I didn’t annoy you last night,’ she says as soon as we’ve exchanged good mornings. ‘I have a habit of saying what’s on my mind to people.’
‘Not at all,’ I reply, suppressing a smirk. Talk about getting straight to the point! ‘At least I know where I stand with you.’
This comment seems to please her and it’s the truth. I value honesty in people. It feels surprisingly natural to level with her now.
‘It was only a fleeting reaction to being around a hot-blooded male. It’s been a while since I’ve had a guy in my life.’
‘Alessandro has just called me,’ she says.
I nod, trying to seem unfazed but, goddammit, I blush. I press my hands to my cheeks. ‘I’m going to feel self-conscious every time you say his name,’ I notify her. ‘But I’ll get over it.’
She grins – properly, now, which makes me laugh.
‘What did he say?’ I ask, lowering my hands.
‘Valentina and Jacopo are coming to help out at Serafina’s today, so you’re not needed unless you want to go in to say hello, but he also pointed out that you’ll meet them in Tivoli tomorrow, so you shouldn’t feel pressured. You told him you wanted to buy a mobile phone?’
‘Yes.’ I mentioned it last night. I had no need of one at home because I never left the house, but I think I should have one here. I’ll feel safer if I’m out on my own.
‘I’m going into the centre for lunch, so you can come with me if you like? Alessandro was worried about you getting there on your own.’
‘That sounds perfect.’
I could do with a break from Serafina’s and probably also a break from Alessandro, but I’m glad I’ll meet my cousins tomorrow. The restaurant is closed on Mondays.
Cristina tells me that the easiest way to get into town is on her scooter, but the thought of this terrifies me and I tell her so.
‘Fine, we’ll go by metro,’ she says a little grumpily.
On the walk to the station, I ask her who she’s having lunch with.
‘Rebecca,’ she replies shortly.
‘Aah, Rebecca.’ I flash her a significant look. ‘What’s the story with you two, then?’
‘Are you getting back at me for last night?’
‘Can you take it?’
She laughs under her breath and shakes her head. ‘Probably not, but I will try.’
‘How long have you been seeing her?’ I ask.
‘On and off for about two years, though I’ve known her for four. She’s a friend of Stefano’s, but she had a boyfriend when we met.’
‘I see.’
‘Yes. This is the problem,’ she adds resignedly. ‘She doesn’t know what she wants. Or at least, she knows what she wants and then changes her mind. Again. And again. And again.’
We’ve been making our way through a maze of apartment blocks, down steps and across roads riddled with grass breaking through cracks in the asphalt. Cars are squeezed into small spaces, and there are some teeny tiny ones parked perpendicular to the other vehicles, front-facing into the kerb. Cristina tells me they’re called Smart Cars.
I should be memorising the route, but I’m distracted, my mind on our conversation.
‘Why do you put up with it?’ I ask.
‘I love her,’ she replies simply.
‘Does she love you?’
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. At the moment, she says she just wants to be friends. She says that last week was a mistake. I think she’s seeing someone.’
‘A boy or a girl?’
‘A boy, of course.’ She sounds bitter. ‘She only dabbles with me. At least, that’s what she tells me.’
‘And you believe her?’
She nods. ‘I think so.’
We buy our tickets from a kiosk on the way so we’re able to head straight to the station platform. When the train pulls in, I stand and stare with amazement and apprehension as it glides to a stop.
‘You okay?’ Cristina asks as the doors whoosh open.
‘I’ve never seen a train in real life,’ I admit, hesitantly stepping on and looking around. I jolt as the doors slide shut.
‘Okay, how did that happen?’ Cristina demands to know as she manoeuvres me towards a couple of vacant seats.
She spends the rest of the journey badgering me about my upbringing.
We get out at Flaminio rather than take the one stop on the metro to Spagna, which is where many of the shops are situated.
‘Spagna brings you out near the Spanish Steps,’ Cristina tells me as we walk through a huge, arched entryway into Piazza del Popolo.
I look all around at the vast, oval-shaped space surrounding us. There are fountains at each end and a tall obelisk in the middle. Something about it feels oddly familiar and, when I peer up at a nearby hill, I notice several people gathered on a terrace, staring at the view.
‘What’s that place called?’ I ask Cristina.
‘Terrazza del Pincio,’ she replies.
‘I think Alessandro took me there the other night.’
‘Huh,’ she says and, once again, I sense that she’s surprised about our night drive. I ask her why.
‘I like Alessandro – I get along well with him – but he can be very selfish.’
I’m perplexed.
‘He’s been better since you arrived,’ she adds with a shrug, noticing my expression. She points out three big roads leading away from the piazza. ‘If you take that one,’ she says of the road heading diagonally off to our left, ‘you’ll come to the Spanish Steps.’ She points at the centre road. ‘At the end of this one is the Monument of Vittorio Emanuele II.’
‘I remember it.’ Alessandro said that it reminds him of a wedding cake. ‘And beyond it is the Colosseum, right?’
‘More or less. The Trevi Fountain is in that direction and the Pantheon is over there,’ she adds, pointing roughly to our left and then our right. ‘You’ll see signs for them.’
‘Okay, thank you. In what way is Alessandro selfish?’
‘He does what suits him,’ Cristina replies as we walk down the central road. ‘He works when it suits him and he disappears when it suits him. Giulio will go for months without hearing a word and I know this upsets him. Then, poof! Alessandro reappears, ready to work to earn enough money to fund his travels and whatever else he gets up to.’
‘What do you think he gets up to?’ I ask with a frown.
She shrugs. ‘Who knows? He’s vague. Like I said, he’s an enigma. I think there is darkness in him, but he hides it well.’
Cristina stays with me while I buy a phone, a relief because the various plans involved are complicated and the shop assistant doesn’t speak much English. I only want a cheap, super-basic model for making phone calls – nothing fancy: I have my laptop if I need to use the internet.
My new flatmate stores a few numbers for me and then we part ways so she can go and meet up with Rebecca.
Her words about Alessandro linger.
I ponder our conversation as I wander the streets, partly attempting to follow directions on my city map, but mostly looking out for signs. I go to the Trevi Fountain first and barely recognise it. I’ve never seen so many people crowded into such a tight space. And I thought it was busy at two o’clock in the morning! In the daylight the stone statue is the colour of pearl and the water is pale blue and cry
stal clear, but to begin with I can only see it from a distance. As the crowd in front begins to disperse, I manage to move forward, and then I’m able to stand and behold one of the most famous fountains in the world. In the centre is a statue of the Greek God Oceanus standing under a triumphal arch. His shell chariot is being pulled by two seahorses, one wild and one docile.
There’s a tightness in my chest as I think of my mother. Did she stand in this exact same place? How did she feel? Was she overawed or underwhelmed? It’s hard to contemplate that thought, with so many people chattering loudly and jostling into me.
I’m not sure I could ever live in a city, I think to myself as I push through the throng with some difficulty. The crowds would get to me. This thought leads me back to Alessandro and what he said to me in Vatican City about not being able to stand queues or too many people.
Somehow I end up on a busy street lined with pavement cafés and restaurants. It’s lunchtime and people are crowded around tables outside in the sunshine. I hear the chink of spoons against coffee cups and inhale the scrumptious smells coming from plates piled high with pasta, fresh from the kitchen and wafting with steam. My stomach rumbles and for a moment I imagine myself sitting at a table on my own and ordering lunch, but instead of feeling a thrill, I experience a pang of loneliness.
Glancing through the window of a nearby café, I spy stacks of paninis, spilling over with ingredients, lined up behind the glass counter. I make a snap decision to join the queue and, when it’s my turn to order, I point at a panini and breathe a sigh of relief when it’s placed, freshly toasted, in my hands. Grabbing something to drink, I pay up and head out onto the street, almost immediately spying a sign for the Pantheon.
A couple of minutes later, I’m standing in front of the famous structure with its majestic triangular-shaped portico and grand Corinthian columns.
The square around me is lined with buildings painted every shade of orange, from the palest peach to the colour of the red desert sands of Australia. One alone is as blue as the sky above.
There are quite a few people hanging out on the white marble steps surrounding the square’s central fountain and I take a seat amongst them, unwrapping my lunch from its wax paper and cracking open a can of lemonade. I’ve gone for a combination of oozing mozzarella and tangy sun-dried tomatoes and as I eat, I soak up the ambience. The fountain is playing a soundtrack of cool clean trickling water and all around I can hear conversations being spoken in different languages. There are so many nationalities in Coober Pedy that I’ve picked up a few words here and there. I can tell that the nearby students with their brightly coloured T-shirts are German, the gaggles of girls taking non-stop selfies are almost certainly Chinese and I think that the blond-haired couple beside me are Norwegian.
